


this story needs a main character

by nise_kazura



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Experimental writing, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Unreliable Narrator, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 03:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21510847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nise_kazura/pseuds/nise_kazura
Summary: “It wasn’t savage. It was lonely... desperate... sad.”She was alive, except she wasn’t. She wanted it to be real, until she didn’t.Hello. My name is Georgia Madchen, and I need you to tell me if I’m alive.
Relationships: Georgia Madchen & Will Graham
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18
Collections: #HanniBelles2019





	this story needs a main character

**Author's Note:**

> this is really fucking weird im so sorry (except im kind of not)  
> have fun  
> it's a trip

Let’s start with an assumption.

The assumption is this: life is an endeavor in knowing who you are.

What does that entail? Well, first, let’s look at ways to test identity. This can be done through interactions with other people. You act, they react. They act, you react. Each interaction is another brushstroke in the painting of your internal portrait. A large component of identity formation is shaped by social interactions.

In addition, all hypotheses need to be negatable—which in this case means you can’t just exist inside your head. You can’t tell yourself you’re a good person while stabbing someone who’s done you no harm. If the outside world which exists in other people does not confirm what you’ve internalized, then something’s wrong. In the first place, the very definition of good and bad come from other people. You may have an internal, subjective view on it, but the vocabulary and framework with which you work with must at least roughly align with those around you.

Conclusion: who you are is based off of how you interact with the people around you. Identity is all about seeing yourself in the mirrors of other people. It’s not possible to see yourself through the windows of your own eyes.

Now, here comes the hard part.

If life is learning who you are, and if who you are depends on seeing yourself through other people, then am I alive?

Hello. My name is Georgia Madchen, and I can’t see faces.

* * *

* * *

It’s silent. Too silent. A yawning absence of sound that fills her. The silence rings, death knell. Deafening. Deadening.

Wind whooshes clean through her, whistling through the hollows. Filling and deflating in turns. In. Out. In. Out. Out. Out, out, out out _out_ —

Empty.

The silence is so _loud._ It screams at her. Something is missing. Something is _wrong._

_You’re heartless._

It’s missing. Her heart  
beat.  
Beat, beat, beat It’s missing it’s gone she’s heartless a horrible dead thing she is she’s—not hing she’s—

_—I’m heartless I’m dead hollow empty no pulsating, squirming organs no gurgling intestines no breathing lungs no blood no heart no heart no heart—_

“Georgia,” they say but it’s lies. All lies. Liar, liar liar l i a r Georgia isn’t here, Georgia’s dead. Georgia’s dead. Georgia’s empty. _Heartless._ Can’t you hear it? The silence? The absence the emptiness it expands like a balloon inside of her, scoops out her insides. No heart. No sensation. No feeling.

“I’m going to kill you,” she says. Because I have no heart. Because I am dead.

Because I am lonely.

Undo, negate. Kill. If you’re dead then you were alive I am not alive I am dead was I alive? I can make you was alive like I am was alive, then I’ll know. Won’t I?

She can’t find it, can’t find her pulse—

in out in out in

“Georgia—”

_Badump badump badump_ it’s death knocking on the door don’t open it don’t open it I am already dead she’s already dead I killed her I did I did didn’t I? I killed Georgia and now I’m going to kill you and then you’ll know and then I’ll know and then—

And then—

* * *

They won’t know what’s wrong with you. They’ll just know that you’re wrong.

* * *

She flees from daylight, from the sun. She’s not allowed to be there. Diurnal souls soak in the light like flowers, they bloom. But not with her. She’ll evaporate if the sun touches her, so she flees into the cover of night.

She’s afraid of evaporating, of disappearing. She’s afraid that if she doesn’t evaporate she’ll still be cold. She’s afraid that the sun will shine right through her, never touching.

She can’t feel the cold, and that’s fine. But not being able to feel warmth scares her more.

* * *

She likes popsicles. Sticky fingers, melted drippings drying between the webbed skin. Beth likes orange, she likes purple. Beth knows. Beth remembers. Beth could tell me what happened to Georgia.

* * *

Mom I’m scared, I’m so scared, can I kill you now?

Please, Mom. I’m dead, help me.

Mom. Mom?

* * *

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

If you’re alone and you’re alive, are you really alive?

If they say your name but they don’t have faces did they speak at all? If they didn’t speak do you have a name? If you have no name do you exist am I alive if I’m not alive are you alive how do I know you’re alive what if you’re dead I should make sure you’re dead shouldn’t I then I wouldn’t be the only dead one then I wouldn’t be by myself then I wouldn’t be loneli

ness is

a kind of

death

, except dying

alone is. Not

kind at all.

* * *

—sugar-sweet summer smiles, best friends forever. And ever—

* * *

And then she said, “ , Georgia.”

Georgia . . , , . 

Geor a .

. G .

“ —”

“ .”

.

“No

* * *

Why isn’t it over yet. I’m dead. I want it to be over.

* * *

“It’s 1:17 AM. We are in Greenwood, Delaware. My name is Will Graham. And you are alive. If you can hear me, you are alive.”

The silence is screaming you’re wrong you’re wrong I can’t hear anything and

you are dead

too

(or you will be)

* * *

I know because I saw you. I saw you that night, I know what you did. You are just like me. We are just alike. You and Georgia.

* * *

She watches him.

He dares to walk in the sunlight.

Isn’t it cold, she wants to ask. Isn’t it cold when the sunlight doesn’t touch you?

He tilts his head back, eyes closed. Basking in it.

It looks warm.

* * *

“I see you Georgia.”

He said I’m alive. But if I’m alive then that means—

* * *

“Think of who you are.”

I don’t want—

* * *

“It’s midnight. You’re in Wolf Trap, Virginia.”

—stop.

* * *

“Your name is Georgia Madchen.”

In. Out. In. Out.

He said it.

In. Out. In. Out.

He said it, I heard it. Do you hear it?

In. Out. In. Out.

* * *

“You are not alone.”

Hope is so cruel. It’s cruel because she didn’t have any, and that’s why she—

I was just so _lonely—_

* * *

“We’re here together.”

_Badump. Badump badump badump—_

Do you hear it? Do you hear it?

* * *

He reaches out in her direction. She reaches back.

They touch.

I am alive.

This is real.

* * *

Hello. My name is Georgia Madchen and I—

I—

I don’t want that to be real. It feels like a horrible dream where I—

I don’t want it to be real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t supposed to be real, I’m _sorry,_ I’m not supposed to be _alive,_ someone, please, Mom? Mom?

She doesn’t cry. That helps. If she can’t cry that must mean she’s still heartless.

* * *

You can’t tell yourself you’re a good person while stabbing someone who’s done you no harm.

* * *

Beth knew what kind of popsicles she liked. So she looked for Beth, because Beth knows who she is. She has to ask. She has to know. Is she alive?

Beth LeBeau. Best friends forever. And ever.

She grabs her ankle and pulls. She crawls over to look at her face. She can’t hear the screaming over the silence.

The woman has no face.

Hurt and betrayal pierce through her. She’s so angry, she just wants her friend. Where is Beth? She wants Beth. Why are you hiding her?

She digs the knife in.

She digs it in because she knew where to put it. She knew where her mouth was. She wanted to rip apart the stranger that must be laughing at her, taunting her, keeping Beth away.

Where is she? Where is Beth? What did you do with her?

Beth why are you hiding from me? I’ll find you. I know you’re under there.

She pulls at the horrible mask, the horrible mask that they all wear, she just wants her friend back. She _trusted_ her. She really had.

Blood everywhere. She’s choking on her own blood. Serves her right. Serves her right, because—

I’m still alone. So alone.

I just wanted my friend. I just wanted her to say my name. I just wanted something to drown out the silence, is that so much to ask?

She stands. She turns her head.

It’s a mirror.

But there’s nothing in it.

There’s no one there. Not even Georgia. Who have you been talking to, this whole time? Georgia isn’t here. She’s dead.

Who are you talking to?

* * *

The dogs have stopped barking. His eyes are blue, she realizes. She hadn’t noticed before. Their fingers are touching. She can feel it, oh, she can _feel_ it.

“Am I alive…?”

Do you want to be?

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on twitter [@nise_kazura](https://twitter.com/nise_kazura) :)
> 
> also, i just want yall to know  
> the google doc title for this fic is "omae wa mou shindeiru"  
> you're welcome


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